


Take Out the Trash

by tipplerdoeswords



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Fourth Wall Break, Knife stuff, M/M, a mostly lighter take on fuzzybatbutt's lessons, semi public boning, the actual boning is summarised in one sentence because i can't write boning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 16:42:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21918523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tipplerdoeswords/pseuds/tipplerdoeswords
Summary: Bloodhound makes Mirage bone in public during the day and unlike every other fanfic I've ever read with public boning, they actually get got by a person with a smartphone. Then Bloodhound goes to Caustic for emotional support.
Relationships: Bloodhound/Mirage | Elliott Witt
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	Take Out the Trash

**Author's Note:**

  * For [volatileSoloist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/volatileSoloist/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Cornered](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18473602) by [fuzzybatbutts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuzzybatbutts/pseuds/fuzzybatbutts). 

> This is a secret santa gift for VolatileSoloist who now has to deal with the horror of giving me the idea for this farce. They asked for a repeat of fuzzybatbutt's Cornered but during the day so there's a risk that boners are seen, so my immediate first thought was to make sure they were.

Elliot whistled as he tied the ends of the industrial grade garbage bag together and swung it over his shoulder.

He was wearing a bright orange apron emblazoned with the bar logo over his civilian clothes. Coming in full gear to work was fun, but he was less likely to get deep fryer grease on fragile machinery dressed like this, and his dashing face was the selling point anyway.

He fumbled for the handle of the back door and stepped out into the side alley where the fragrant dumpsters were crammed. The sun had warmed the nippy morning air and the blue sky made an arc over the jumbled buildings.

His jaunty whistle petered out when Mirage saw Bloodhound standing against the opposite wall. It wasn’t that he was surprised anymore; it was more that Bloodhound apparently hadn’t learned what texting was and the poor thing had probably been waiting for a while for Elliot to come outside.

“We on protocol right now?” Mirage asked, head poking above the trash in his arms. “I thought, usually, daylight hours during the week when I have the bar to run were more of a low-key thing—“

Bloodhound’s muddy boot connected with his knee and Mirage went down on the filthy concrete, sending up a puff of day old cigarette ash. He kept the bulging trash bag in his arms, even turning to protect it from the fall like it was a putrid baby Jesus.

“Even when you are not in my presence, you belong to me. Your body is mine. You obey me.” said Bloodhound.

“Yes sir, of course. Can I put this bag in the trash? There’s a lot of old chicken we had to throw out and if the juice leaks it’s going to smell like Caustic’s ass crack.”

When Bloodhound didn’t immediately respond, Mirage slowly pulled himself onto one knee. He shuffled towards the dumpster only to have his head tugged back by an rigid hand in his hair. A light blush rose on Mirage’s cheeks. 

“Hey sir, usually I would be totally into this but it’s lunch rush and there are a lot of people coming in for a Bamboozle Burger so if I could just get this trash gone and a few orders taken care of I can ask Gina to cover my break then meet you out here for a quickie.”

Mirage gulped at the cool metal line now pressed against his Adam’s apple. He stared up at the dark lenses of Bloodhound’s mask that were a foot above his face. The hunter pushed Elliot’s head into the knife until a drop of blood squeezed out from under the blade.

“Put down that garbage. Kneel in front of me and open your mouth.”

Mirage gently laid the trash bag on the ground and shuffled into position between Bloodhound’s boots. He paused before he opened his mouth to look out at the busy street only a few meters away. People in crisp button ups were getting lunch while tourists and retirees wandered through on their way to more attractive destinations than the side street where Elliot had his bar.

No one had seen them yet, but they were two celebrities and well, people did come to his bar to see him and he wouldn’t put it past some enterprising fangirl to have a surveillance drone on his location. He raised a finger.

“Point of order, sir. Should we really be doing this right now? Y’know, during the day and all with people everywhere. I know you like to keep your identity a secret and it only takes one stan with a smartphone for us to end up on the front page of Mawker.”

Mirage imagined he was getting a death glare but it was hard to tell with the mask on. The knife was definitely on his throat again but Mirage was 80% sure Bloodhound wouldn’t kill him in this alley so he kept his breathing even and a hopeful, entreating look in his eyes.

The knife sliced upwards and along the underside of Elliot’s jaw, cutting through the thin skin and rubbing against the bone. Elliot wheezed a curse as quietly as possible as blood trickled down his neck. 

“Pet. When I give you an order I don’t expect these pathetic excuses. I don’t care if Octane is livestreaming us, you do what I say or you will be punished.”

“Octane’s here?” said Elliot wildly. “Oh god he’d probably be into this sort of thing, please tell me you didn’t invite him.”

“It was an example. Allfather’s sake just shut up and suck my dick.”

Mirage obliged and the following three minutes of bloody, squelching, back of the throat noises were all captured by the high definition phone camera of the paparazzi man on the bar roof.

Bloodhound left as suddenly as they had appeared, and Elliot was finally able to throw the chicken away, blinking to clear the subspace high before putting a bandage on his cut (he had started keeping a first aid kit on hand since meeting Hound), and strolling back into the bar. He hand delivered a few burgers, sang happy birthday to a balding accountant, and was almost about to clock out when his phone started buzzing in his pocket.

The messages came faster than he could read them. He picked out the ones from people in his contacts.

Octavio: _wow dude ur crazier than me i’m gonna get mad views off this reaction video haha ;) ;)_

Apex PR: _Mr. Witt, please return to the Apex facilities ASAP. This is an urgent request._

Lifeline: _If your mother sees that video don’t come crying to me_

Crypto: _before you ask no I cannot ‘hack’ it away. it would be easier to take down the whole internet or for you to win a game_

“Ah.” said Elliot. The irony was that he was finally going viral and he wouldn’t even get to enjoy it before Bloodhound killed him. 

Mirage showed up to the PR meeting alone, since Bloodhound couldn’t be contacted. No one had seen the hunter since that morning and anyone who considered having to tell them that they were needed became intensely ill.

Alexander Nox didn’t flinch when he walked into his lab and found Bloodhound throwing their knife moodily into the wall. He knew about the video, of course. While he scoffed at gossip and shunned the more talkative legends it would be a mistake to ignore such juicy personal ammo. Caustic had finished his snickering while he was reading the articles in the bathroom and now faced his fellow competitor with measured detachment.

“Can I help you?”

Hound wrenched the knife out of the wall, shedding more plaster onto the tile. Caustic’s mouth shrank into a thin line of disapproval, but he sat down at the lab bench and took out his tablet. 

Hound threw the knife until the panel was in shreds and their breath came harsh through their mask. Caustic kept one eye on them and played solitaire with his left hand. 

When the hunter’s aim got more erratic and a knife narrowly avoided a jar of yellow powder, Caustic spoke again.

“Stop destroying my lab. You’re not the first Legend who’s fucked up.”

“I did not ‘fuck up’. I was trying to teach Elliot an important lesson about following orders.” said Bloodhound. They spun on their heel and walked over to the table to sit next to the thoroughly unimpressed Caustic.

“I’m surprised you can teach him something more complicated than ‘sit’ and ‘stay’.”

Bloodhound’s growl came out like a pained groan. They tucked their knife away and put their face in their hands.

“How bad is it?” they asked. “I haven’t seen anything yet.”

Caustic pulled up the TV app on his tablet and the curt voice of the news anchor cut above the light hissing in the lab.

“Breaking news. An independent journalist has filmed a public encounter between the Apex Legends Mirage and Bloodhound. The actual footage is quite graphic, but this answers what we’ve all been thinking: Who would ever bone Mirage?”

The co-anchor nodded solemnly and signed the cross. 

“The only question our audience can ask now is whether this is real or some sort of fanfiction that’s broken through to the material plane.” The anchorwoman turned her head and stared directly into the camera, lines of horror stretching through the light makeup on her face.

Caustic changed the channel. A gruff woman in a suit shared the screen with a nerdy looking young man, who was talking quite passionately into a fuzzy microphone.

“My expert opinion is that this was a publicity stunt by Elliot ‘Mirage’ Witt.” said the nerd.

“And how did you come to this conclusion?” asked the gruff woman, breathless with excitement.

Well you see, the sexual organ in question doesn’t match records that we have on file. Our hacking group has created a database of detailed penis images, including those obtained from the Apex Games medical records that can be matched using image recognition software.

“This is incredible! The existence of this database means that we could theoretically confirm Bloodhound is not a number of people.”

“This is true, if it really was Bloodhound getting fellatio in that back alley. But is it more likely that the reclusive hunter wanted to screw in public or that Elliot Witt hired a prostitute to dress as their fellow competitor in a bizarre voyeuristic attention grab? The individual we thought was Bloodhound could easily have been someone else in convincing cosplay.”

“You heard it here on Channel Alpha first, viewers. The only thing we can definitely confirm is that Elliot Witt, also known as Mirage, one of the lackluster legends in the Apex Games, has a thing for the masked champion.”

Caustic closed the app and grunted. “I think that counts as fucking up.”

Bloodhound mumbled something from their now face down position on Caustic’s lab bench.

“It’ll leave the news cycle in a week and Witt is taking most of the fall anyway. If I’m lucky he’ll be put on leave and I won’t have to put up with his insufferable chatter. Even on the dropship it seems I can hear him no matter where I am.”

Bloodhound’s mumble sounded a bit more threatening this time. Caustic scratched at an itch under his greying beard and considered the hunter through his glasses.

“Yes I know he’s _yours_, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s an annoying little shit. When he’s not simpering over you he’s driving the rest of us up the wall with the constant, unending, inane chatter.”

Bloodhound didn’t respond or sit up. Caustic observed them with mild interest for a minute then started manipulating a 3D model of a large molecule on his tablet, pulling apart atoms to examine the bonds and scratching out notes with his free hand. Bloodhound looked up when Caustic stood from his stool to check the exit flows of his batch reactors.

“Our relationship is not something a man like you would understand.” the hunter finally said.

“What don’t I understand? You think you’re the only one who’s obsessively kidnapped someone to break their mind etc.? Witt will come running back to you the moment you snap your fingers. And if you’re worried about the reputation aspect, I can name a few of the game runners who have done worse than you or I. As long you’re in shape to compete once the break ends, it’s not worth remembering.”

Bloodhound made an angry, metallic sound that seemed to thrum through the sterile lab air. Caustic looked at his nearest reactor with concern. After patting it with a gloved hand, he walked over to a fume hood to fiddle with the dials on a magnetic stirring plate and took an empty beaker to the stack of dirty glassware in the sink. Anger faded back to gloom and Bloodhound pulled out their knife to sharpen on a worn whetstone.

Bloodhound spent the rest of the evening with Caustic in the secure lab, sharing a couple microwave pizzas with the scientist and ranting about the media. Caustic worked while Bloodhound blew off their steam, hiding a gaping yawn every now and then behind a large, liver spotted fist. He kicked the hunter out of the lab after midnight, leaving Bloodhound to stew in the stares of any legend unlucky enough to be around. 


End file.
